


The Crow

by Umbreeunix



Series: The Crow Collection [1]
Category: Homestuck, Real Men Wear Tights - Fandom
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Canonical Character Death, Minor Character Death, Multi, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1354441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbreeunix/pseuds/Umbreeunix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When life gives you wings, do whatever you want! Nobody can chain you down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take Off

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Real Men Wear Tights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/469179) by [Bananaramses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bananaramses/pseuds/Bananaramses), [SergeantMeow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SergeantMeow/pseuds/SergeantMeow). 



> **Just a heads up, this fanfic is old and I aim to completely overhaul it during my spare time. It may take a while but I really do love this concept and this Dave I've made, and want to remake it now that I know more about character design, development, and storytelling. I'll be leaving this untouched though, so I always have a reminder of where this all started.
> 
> ****There's a [brand new blog](https://thecrow-revived.tumblr.com/) that's going to be all about the fanfic and keeping tabs as I write it, feel free to follow it if you want to be kept up to date about the fanfic's rewrite.
> 
>  
> 
> Check the bottom silly.

Speckles of light illuminate the viridian grasses below, making their grassy luster even more vibrant beneath the golden tresses of the tender summer glow, surprising as the season will soon come to a close. A light, gentle breeze caresses all that come within its path, curving around the shapes and bends of every object before it. There seems to be a shift though, as the winds embrace comes upon a young boy, right around fifteen, standing on a dirt road at the front of a untouched craftsman home. Clasped in his arms is a large cardboard box, his deceivingly lanky limbs holding the heavy cardboard cube with ease as his pale, pure-diamond blonde hair wafts up in the rising wind, bringing the delicate tufts to rest atop his eyebrows, tickling his eyelids . He doesn’t really mind this though, head arcing towards the bright cobalt sky, shockingly pale skin luminescent in the afternoon sunlight. His face shows little to no expression, most of his features covered by the dark, mirror black aviators resting perfectly over his eyes, though his mouth curves into a slight smirk as he notices a cloud drift across the azure expanse above, wishing he could join it and dance within the stretch of endless sky. Today is the day, a day where he will start his new life. Bainbridge Island, only a boat ride away from Seattle, Dave couldn’t help but wonder what his life would end up being like now, and with those thought his large wings, which have been flawlessly folded against his back, expand to embrace the warm gusts of his new life, feathers black as pitch compared to the bright, sun drenched glow of the pleasant midday sun.

His contemplations are broken as the gruff, loud shout of his brother penetrates his mindscape. He swivels his body towards the source of the sound, seeing his brother standing, one foot on the step to the front porch, his arms full as he supports one box on his shoulder and the other on his opposite hip. Dave’s wings return to their perch against his back, unable to stop himself from admiring that strength, watching how the muscles of his able bodied sibling flexed and protruded beneath the tanned skin, a little envious at his superior power. His collared t-shirt does nothing to conceal his rippling body and immense potency that could only come from years of strenuous training and exercise. Ink black pants match well with the stark whiteness and provide quite a contrast to his brother’s honey glow skin. The call of his voice pierces Dave unexpected reverie once again, and he is forced to come face to face with the annoyed grimace of his sibling, easily seeing  the crease his lip below the strangely shaped shades as it curves into frown, looking nowhere similar to Dave’s, considering both lenses are long, upturned scalene triangles, though the lenses are similar smoggy black.

“Hey! Earth to little brother, would ya get yer head out of the fuckin’ clouds and help me with this shit already?” His tone is curt and slightly on the irritated side, but it wasn’t mean in the least. In all of Dave’s life being raised by his older brother, not once has the elder’s voice gone above a slight rage, and that only happened when four year old Dave decided that his brother’s shades would be the perfect shovel for his sandbox.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it, shut up already.” Dave tugs the box up when he noticed it’s weight began sinking down, his body slouched forward to keep the support. As he does his mind meanders away from him again, a pretty normal occurrence for the Strider teen. His mind strolls to darker pastures, wondering why his brother never thought of him as strange, with the whole wings sprouting from his shoulder blades. As he takes a few steps, his thoughts mull over all of this; these muses never really left him even after the years of being raised by the older brother. His eyes shift to catch a glimpse of his brother’s back, and a wave of gratefulness and relief swells inside him. Out of all the people he ever had the pleasure of knowing, which is a very small amount, his brother never treated him any differently from a normal kid and over the many years of Dave’s existence the one person he could count on was and still is his brother. Another call jolts him back to reality, not even bothering to answer as he quickens from his slow, notion filled crawl.

Dave easily bounds up the three steps and lands onto the wooden patio, the boards creaking in protest as the unfamiliar weight is pressed down against them. He follows his brother to the inside of their new home, head swiveling only to note the brand new furniture placed on the wooden expanse of their relatively compact deck. A mahogany framed love seat sit closest to the door, its green cushions slightly faded to make the color less prominent, doubtlessly a tactic used to maintain a simplistic look for the home, not like it mattered now, and personally Dave would have rather liked a brighter red to contrast on the bland browns of the outer brick walls. Beside the cushioned seat is a small, round table with a crimson paper lantern beaming brightly amongst the duller, monochrome hues. He wondered just how much more Japanese shit will be brought into this abode before his brother is satisfied. The contrast seemed so intense compared to the faded greens and beiges, the color only more distinguished next to the matching chaise at the farthest end of the patio, turned at an angle so it could fit better in the small space provided.

Dave’s eyes return to facing forward as his brother moves beyond the frame of their front door, prompting him to follow closely behind as his nose is overwhelmed with the distinct scent of freshly painted walls with faint traces of upturned dust and wood, skin wrinkling as his face scrunches in mild disgust. He takes a good look at his surroundings, though not much is there to be yet, most of the furniture is still sitting out in the front yard, though most of the bulkier items have been brought inside the house already. To his right, only inches away from the door, sat his brother’s large, four piece sectional, coated entirely in light tan leather as its body curves along the wall, circling a stainless steel table with a pellucid glass top. A Tibetan highland sheep braided wool rug covers the floor beneath the furnishings, lamenting on how his brother constantly repeated these pointless facts to him, a precaution for Dave to never spill on the fabric, which succeeded. In front of the couch a few feet away is the entertainment center, a modern concise TV unit holding up a table lamp to its right and a silver plasma television in the center. The space already looked prepared for daily living, but Dave knew pretty soon that the joint would be covered in assortments of knick-knacks and so called ‘priceless treasures’, as his brother says, but Dave has had a hard time believing they’re anything but a pack rats Japanese obsessed junk.

Dave sets the box down in the space that would soon be there living room, already being scolded for attempting to set the heavy load onto the glass coffee table, grunting as he gently the package drops to the floor. He stretches away the strain, palms pressed to his lower back, Dave’s eyes come up to the ceiling as he pushes into his spine gently. Noting the light fixtures and their switches he makes a mental note to label each one, that way his brother can’t find a reason complain about trying to figure out which switch does what. He rolls his shoulder, stepping back outside to grab another box to bring into the house, sneakers thumping lightly against the steps while being welcomed by the same creak of dissent till he reaches the dirt road with a puff of dust. Dave rolls up his sleeves in preparation for an arduous day, muttering at the prospect of being stuck on the ground for the hours of labor that comes with unpacking and decorating a home. He takes a moment to steal a glance at the sky, lifting his hand so he could block the sun's bright rays, though he really didn’t need to with the shades but still did so for ironic purposes. Two birds dance past his vision, locked in an awestruck tango with the winds and clouds before disappearing behind the greenery of the tall trees that surround his new home. A smirk cracks at the corner of his lips, turning back to his nest as he’s beckoned to help, responding with a heave of another box and brisk steps inside his new dwelling.

///

The day that had seemed so bright and exuberant already dimmed down to a more somber, amber glow as the sun set on the horizon, the gentle warmth of the summer air never escaping as the day winded down. All the boxes had been unpacked, ALL of them, leaving the cardboard folded next to their trash bin in the kitchen, eventually taken out to burn or whatever his brother did with it. As for Dave though, he lays slumped on their living room sectional, shirt long abandoned hours prior and groaning to whatever being decided to forsaken him with this dreaded work. He could still feel the uncomfortable dampness on his skin as his bare feet cross at the ankles, heels rooted to the glass tabletop as he let the tension drift from his body and into the cushions. Even if the day had been arduous it’d definitely been better than his brother’s training, usually being sent out to work for hours with no break, doing all sorts of odd chores till he either vomited from the exertion or passed out. His brother is truly brutal, and just thinking over all the shit he went through sent shivers down his spine. Dave knew why Bro made him do it though, he just wanted to toughen Dave up, make sure he’s strong for the dangers up ahead. And speaking of dangers, Dave sits up a bit and looks for his brother, spotting him at the kitchen island, chopping up some iceberg lettuce for a sweet sandwich. With a furl of black feathers Dave’s pushing himself to his feet, quickly striding to his brother and situating himself across the countertop, hands on the cold granite.

“So...?” he inquired, an eyebrow raised as his body inches closer. Bro knew what he was asking, he always did, and even though Dave is coming at that age where he should be more independent and not have to ask for his brother’s permission, at least in his mind, he still always felt he should when it associated to something like this.

“Hmm…” he could see his brother brooding, thinking over statistics and hypotheses in his mind before giving his final answer. Dave could barely handle the suspense though, feathers ruffled and shifting about in a semi obvious display of impatience, even standing on his toes so he can come in as close as possible hoping the answer is what he wants it to be.

“Sure, just no weights tonight.”

Dave could’ve jumped for joy just then, but that would have been uncool as fuck. No, he had more class than that, so he calmly nods his head, turns around, and makes his way across the room towards the spiral staircase behind the TV. Once he is out of his brother’s line of sight he leaps three steps in his excitement, letting out a soft, “yes!”, as he bounds to his bedroom with his newfound dorky joy.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach the second floor and bound down the hallway, standing before the last door on the left, grinning like the king of dorks as he tugs it open with a twist of the knob, stepping inside the familiar space. Every time he and his bro end up moving the only request he makes is that the room be measured carefully so he could fit all the furniture and technology he has inside, and that the door always be in the farthest left corner of the hall. Luckily though, this house was build with them in mind, so it wasn’t a huge problem when moving in. Dave is first greeted to the cooling breeze of his tower fan, letting the crisp gusts tousle his crow black feathers and lightly tinted hair as he shuts the door behind him. He takes a look around, smirking at his assortment of DJ equipment and stereos, taking a quick glance at his laptop, which might as well be a computer since the thing is bulky and heavy as shit, unable to survive more than thirty minutes off of its charger. He spins on his heel to face his armoire, which is conveniently placed to the right of the door. He opens the top panels, pushing back his wide selection of shirts and pants, along with the occasional formal suit, to reach to the hidden safe imbedded into the far back wall of the miniature closet. He quickly presses in three different codes, the door clicking before it slides open, the hiss of wind detectable as the air tight compartment slowly opens its hatch, sucking up the oxygen that it has been depraved of.

Inside the confines of the safe rests a costume, very Japanese-esque as Dave recalls it being a tattsuke styled hakama, folded perfectly at the bottom shelf in the traditional crease instilled in Japan. Bro had made it very clear that before he would even touch this outfit that Dave would learn of every single part, inside and out, though he didn’t really know why his brother was so passionate about this. It probably had to do with his siblings obsession with Japanese culture. Before Dave even begins to don his costume he sheds his clothes, the usual wave of relief washing over when his wings slide through the openings cut and sewn on the back of his shirt, of course this being sewn by his brother. He really is grateful since his bro has always watched over him, making sure to take good care of him. Of course he would never voice his gratitude, but every so often there would be a day where Dave would do something nice for his brother, and it never went unnoticed by the sibling either.

Once he is left standing in only his briefs, Dave began to reach in the direction of his clothes, but instead grabbed an item from the top shelf. He shakes it out from its fold, revealing a form fitting, black, sleeveless thermal suit, made of special fibers so that the cloth wasn’t thick and bulky but still retained heat for the high flights in the chilled night sky. He steps inside, the legs of the one piece only reaching his knees as the sleeves also stop short before his shoulders, the collar however rode high, only a small distance below his jaw. Dave starts with the zipper, placed on his hip for easy access, and goes up to the back of his neck, a simple loop holding it in place so there is little leeway for it to unzip during flight. With that out of the way, he reaches out and grabs another object of clothing from the top shelf, and with a gentle shake the fabric takes shape into a pair of thin, white, loose fitting pants that hang just above his knees. He slides those on over the suit and turns to see the weights sitting neatly beside his costume, which consisted of a simple chest weight, which actually covered his whole torso except a wide range of his collar, next to that his wrist weights, which cover most of his forearm, and lastly being the ankle weights, shaped as short, but relatively wide cylinders with a dark blue-silver coating, looking more like a decorative piece than an actual piece of fitness equipment. He would have donned them as well, but of course he had been told not to, so he skipped over his heavier set clothing and grabbed the hakama instead, carefully untying its strings and straightening out the creases on his bed.

Dave had been taught the very specific order of putting on a hakama, as well as each name of every part. So with exceptional care and precision he takes hold of the first item, the tabi, white knee high socks split at the big toe, the name popping up instantly in his head. He slides them on, tightening the carmine strings around the top before twisting them into a sturdy knot, an addition made by his brother. Dave knew what was next, reaching out to quickly take a hold of the dark hued trousers, slipping them over each leg. Dave took a moment to inspect his work, the new, ballooning pants tied below the strings of his sock. Though the pants were made in the tattsuke style, usually worn by ninjas, instead of the bottom half hugging his leg it stopped right beneath the knee, and two knots on each side of the hem fastening it into place, and what would usually be a pitch black shaded fabric, instead is dyed a serene navy blue, much like the midnight oceans.

Seeing how everything is in order, Dave snags the next piece from his bed, a very unique part of his outfit considering it doesn’t coincide with the rest of his customary garb. The upper section resembles the time honored attire used to wear when enrobing a hakama, a nagajuban kimono, but instead of the bottom half being a long skirt it cuts off, creating two triangular-like shapes at the front of the hem, and a single one in the back that extends over his hindquarters. The sleeves were also rather peculiar, instead of continuing onward to extend into the long tamotos, they are cut at the shoulder, and only cover about half the skin there. The milky color there fades at the  chest, morphing into ignited reds and oranges, floral patterns littered over the blazing dye. The contrast is rather mystifying, and Dave always manages to lose himself in the glaring shades of crimsons and auburns as his thumb smooths the pure silk against his skin. He cuts his reverie short, impatient to reach the skies as he tugs the top on and overlaps the panels, the left above the right. The collar folded to reveal a light shade of blue grey at the other side that loops around his neck and shoulders.

He tries to quicken the pace, a palm pressed to his abdomen to keep the top from unraveling as he quickly takes the strange section of clothing his brother had designed for him. It almost resembled a corset in a way, but instead of restricting his weight it cushioned it, the hard silk curving to cover his stomach then back down so that two smaller straps wrap around to the back to be tied in place by woven strings. The cloth is rather ornate, stained in dark, shadowy purples and indigos, a long strip of gold hugging it a few inches below the hem, short, white frills poking out from underneath, though that small space is decorated with shimmering silver threads sewn in a variety of shapes. It’s an admirable piece of work, and it did peek Dave’s curiosity if this should really be his. He couldn’t let his mind wander this time though, quickly working the ties at the back before taking his yuigesa in hand, the traditional pom pom sash worn usually by ancient priests or malevolent deities like tengu. The two puffs of white hang on the front of the rusted gold cloth, hidden swirls and intricate designs imbedded in the silk, though in the back there are three of these white tufts. The fabric dances in midair with each movement, unrestricted till Dave reaches for his obi, the traditional belt worn with hakama like his own. This piece is shaded a bright red, littered in florals ranging from cool, gentle blues to bright, cheery pinks, the occasional greens boasting at their colors while each pattern lets loose their lustrous sheen. He wraps the long cloth twice before tying a knot in the back, using the traditional kai-no-musubi knot, a simple tie that looks similar to an opening clam, decorating this with an obidome, a small, thinner belt made of lacing triangular pieces, tinted a dull, more subdued shale grey. Though this accessory starts as three separate belts, the piece converges into one at the front, a circular buckle connecting the six end pieces, the design of his circular part looking strangely like a crimson gear. Now with the obi tied and his pom pom sash, as well as his top fastened in place over his shoulders, he takes another group of items from the bottom shelf, hardened, decorated steel reflecting all light that touches it as the steel alloy armor is revealed.

Follow the order his brother taught him, he starts with the tekko, gauntlets used in ancient Japan. Hardened, black plating coats the outside, the knuckle guard lined with a golden trim curving over the five slots protruding from the top, a compartment for something that Dave decides not to use today. He straps the gauntlet on using the leather glove connected underneath, fingers blanketed in the brown skin to shield them as well as prevent fingerprints from being left behind during his escapades. Preceding these are his suneate, greaves made in the similar era, a gift from his brother from who knows where. Most suneate had plates covering the knee cap, this one is lacking in that and instead the large piece of metal covers only his shin instead, alloy dark as night with the same golden trims that match his gauntlets. The plate is fastened into place by two leather bands welded to the back, one on his calf and the other his ankle. Afterwards he pulls out a pair of items similar to obidome, though these belt like objects made of two braided ties that connect to a seemingly similar buckle, though these are painted to depict scratched records instead of crimson gears. Dave ties these above both greaves, making sure the disks are about midway up his shin before he takes a simple green cloth and wraps it on the bottom most part of the metal, tucking the hanging fabric behind the leather strap. There was no real point to this object, it serves as more of a decorative piece, as well as a replacement for his ankle weights. Once that’s finished the last is the kote, a vambrace that resembles the gauntlets in both design and aboriginality. The arching metal covering the topmost section of his forearm, the plates split into three separate pieces only to conjoin at the thin, red strings, that serve less as a brace for the shielding of his arm, the leather strap below keeping the armor in place. Though the metal matches the rest in dark color and golden trimming, imbedded into the steel are intricate floral designs, giving the metal a strange sense of depth and intricacy. Nearly finished Dave steps back to admire the work done so far, a smirk toying with the corner of his lip.

The last few parts have always been simpler to don than the rest of his clothing, first and foremost being the wider sleeves of his nagajuban kimono, usually referred to in Japan, and by his brother, as a tamoto. The sleeve is fastened by a ribbon of dark blue, coiling around the two layers of his sleeve. The initial cut of fabric is a deep, dark vermilion, covered in designs that closely resemble his obi, but at the same time so different with the brilliant shades of  golds and bronzes, the hem dotted with short dashes of green twine that weaves in and out of the hem. The lower sleeve remains a stunning white, though the edges fade to the similar red to his top, but this time more faded and only apparent in the efflorescent designs. Next to come are his more accessorial items, first being a small keychain like trinket, fastening it to his obidome on his left hip, at one end hung a charm, the other dangling a gear as well as a scratched disk beside it, both caved from sturdy sections of wood. Next to come is his more cherished treasure, a ha-uchiwa, a feather fan passed down by his ‘family’, used only by tengus of ancient lore and made by the crow’s feathers of his ancestors. Dave turns by the waist to tuck this into his obi, making sure that the only part left exposed are the feathers, giving it little of a chance of slipping out while he is on the move. He reaches into the closet again, but instead of moving toward the safe his palm reaches to one of the shelves, retrieving a katana, just one of many blades left in his arsenal. This one is more ornately decorated though, the sheathe covered in intricate patterns and cloths, a blade only used for the most sacred of occasions. Dave has deemed it fit though to use now, a thin, yet surprisingly sturdy string fastening the blade to his obi, making sure to keep it at his left side.

There’s a soft sigh of relief as Dave finally shuts the doors, first being the safe, the steel moving soundlessly on its hinges as it snaps to lock itself, and the second the armoire. Turning to peek at the clock he noted it’s been about an hour since he started changing, muttering under his breath at the annoyingly long process of clothing himself in this garb. There’s nothing he can do about it though, and with a sigh Dave turns on his heels to the bathroom, grabbing the few remaining items he has left before he leaves the room.

He walks from his bedroom to the shared bathroom, built between his room and the fitness room, which technically is fitness and laundry room, since his brother forgot to account for a place to wash their clothes when they were building this house. The door opens with a muted squeak, and the remaining pieces of his costume sprawl across the granite countertop on the double sink. He unconsciously stops before the sink on the leftmost side, silently claimed by Dave when they had first moved in to their new abode. He opens the drawer at the midpoint of the counter and pulls out a clip on hair extension, the color matching his own seamlessly as its length extends to his waistline. He brings the hairpiece back to snap it on, his eyes narrowing at the sight of him with this copious amount of hair, looking more like a chick in his mind at this point. That changes soon though as a long, burgundy ribbon, ties itself at the base of his head, the red silk braiding out till it forms a long, thin tube of the rust colored fabric, hair erupting from its bondage and still extending a good length down even at the heightened angle. His eyes finally glance over at the last few parts of his costume, slipping his shades off his face to reveal abnormally carmine shaded eyes, glowing as the fluorescent lights of the bathroom strike the glaring color. He felt his breath catch in his throat, thick and strangely dirty blonde eyebrows furrowing at the sight of his additional malformation. He wanted nothing more than to imbed his fist into the mirror’s surface, screaming at how much of a liar the reflective glass is before the voices of condescension fill his head, but he is better than that now. He takes a deep breath instead, taking the black, thin mask from the counter and tying it to his face, staying calm and composed as he ignores the illustration that mocks him silently on the wall.

Letting his moment of inner turmoil cease he prepares to fasten his ogi, two large metal fans that look more like an array of blades than a fashion statement, which most likely are. He hooks these to the back of his head where his hair meets the rusty dyed tie, letting the two fans open to an arrangement of sharp steel. He drops his woodens sandals to the floor, which his brother usually calls geta, the footwear traditional to his Japanese attire, two short prongs, only holding Dave about ten centimeters from the floor, extending from beneath the sole. The last to come is his mask, letting his eyes inspect the face cover as he lifts it from the granite countertop. The facial shield had been welded long ago, made from a material he knew his brother had mentioned, but he couldn’t recall now. The faceplate looked much like a crow, though it lacked the lower portion of its beak, the eyes are wider than normal and the surface  painted a deep midnight blue to imitate the dark feathers of the foreboding avian. A short sigh leaves his lips as this is fastened into place, his shades coming to lock into the large holes, the templates of his eyewear sliding through a small hole at each side of his mask and coming to loop around his ears still. He quickly ties the mask at the back, two strings keeping it fastened at the top and bottom most corners. Without even another peek at the mirror Dave turns to open the bathroom door, returning to his bedroom in silence before the window opens and he is gone into the night.

\\\\\

It only took Dave a mere collection of minutes to pass the wide expanse of water that separated the island holding his home from Seattle, the bright, the illuminating lights looking considerably more inviting than the dim specks that littered across the greenery around his abode. The city seemed so far beneath him as he rode the currents of chilled summer air, as if he could cup the stretch of buildings in his palm and hold it all for himself. At the same time though it looked closer than ever, skyscrapers heeding to their name as their hearths seem to just rim at the heavens that Dave made his own. It’s all so serene, but at the same moment Dave could feel the pang of exhilaration coursing through his veins, and in no time he is angled at a nosedive towards a busy street, gasps of awe and astonishment barely audible past the strong winds whirling past his ears as he angles his body back towards the skies, just above the roof of a car, probably scaring some poor sap shitless.

Usually his first flight in a new city entails searching for local ‘businesses’ for him to affiliate himself with, usually toting his old-fashioned shoulder bag as he searches high and low for possible co-workers in his line of work. Tonight though Dave didn’t feel rushed to do that, the weight of the responsibility being saved for his next night as, for now, he enjoys the irradiation from the city below, beacons of light stretching to mark the shadowed clouds above him. Everything seemed much more placid, like the city is drugged with some sort of narcotic, bringing a slight sense of alarm to the Strider soaring above the clouds. Where is the danger, he thought. How could a city this late into the night not have some sort of crime or activity going about. His question is answered with the piercing sirens of police cars as four of them circle the front of a bank, not to far from some random 24-hour store just a small collection of blocks away. For now Dave would observe from the safe distance on the top of a shadowed building a few blocks over, always finding amusement in the chaos and idiocy that most half baked criminals would dish out at these scenes, always going in the same order of the bad guys steal the money, the police come to get it back, and then it turns into a fanfare of bullets and recon ending with either the bad guys escaping, with or without their loot, or the imbeciles getting caught and tossed into jail. It was a time old chronicle that just never stopped making Dave chuckle.

This time was different, a civilian seemed to have been caught in the middle of the storm, ducking behind a car in a feign attempt to avoid getting his brain splattered on the sidewalk, or in this case his thinkpan, since the civilian happens to be some dumbass troll out shopping at the worst times. As he watched Dave wasn’t even aware that he had moved to a crouch, the firm teachings of his brother echoing ceaselessly in his mind. Never risk a civilian. That had always been the rule his sibling instilled onto Dave, and he followed it faithfully. Just as his wings furl and he prepares to take off another person enters the scene, almost out of nowhere, one Dave could surmise as a male human since whatever skin that was shown in the blue costume of his wasn’t pale grey like the frightened troll’s. It takes him a second of staring as the man leaps into the sky, frighteningly high for a normal human being, this guy is some sort of mutant of some sort, and not just that a superhero of all the types. Dave feels his body tense, muscles clenching as he quickly takes flight and dives into a dark alleyway for cover. He couldn’t believe this, in his first day in the city he had already made a run in with a HERO. In normal situations people would find a moment like this amazing, a chance to meet someone who rescues civilians and stops crime is the fantasy of most geeks and comic reading teens anywhere, but this only spelled dread for Dave. This would make his nightlife that much harder for him, he would have to tread carefully so he could avoid any run ins with the blue suited defender of Seattle justice.

///

The rest of his night compared to meeting the hero of the city was rather uneventful, the most Dave had planned to do was to get a good fly by of the landscape and map out the area he would make his new base of organization. This turned into information gathering as he stopped at newsstands, random shops, and just about anywhere to learn about his new hero. Most of these placed didn’t provide much besides the fact he started his job of justice at a young age, and hasn’t been out on the scene for even more than a decade. One newspaper stall was incredibly informational, providing story clippings, photographs, and even art renderings printed of posters of this city’s idol. From what he’d gathered the boy started this job sometime before high school, he’s been at it for a while but not as long as some of the veteran heroes around the block. At first Dave it was some run of the mill kid looking for his 30 minutes of fame or something, but the powers that the guy possessed sung a different tune, and apparently this hero doesn’t take much credit for the crimes he curbs, instead just leaving it to the police to clean up with only small indications of his handiwork in the mix. Out of all of it Dave couldn’t help but find that quality noble, not many heroes are willing to step out of the spotlight to actually do their job, more worried about public appearances and social depictions than anything else, so this is a rather admirable quality. Though this spelled a boatload of problems for Dave, this meant the hero would stop at nothing to put a halt to crime, and without fame or wealth to distract him it would only become more problematic. With a sigh he hands back the newspaper clippings and pictures, deciding to buy one of the stands more famous posters of the hero in mention to show to his brother, catching the name printed over the top of the paper. Heir.

Dave knew that he would need to spread his name to the underworld now, though he is famous in plenty of places and his title is probably already spread to the city here it’s still a better idea to affirm his arrival, now that he had run into the local hero. He stops by places where most the bigger crooks hang about, dark, dank night clubs, hideouts in sewers, back entrances in alleyways, the Strider made plenty sure that his name is spread far and wide among the higher ranking offenders, not to privy to concerning himself with the small fries he had saw earlier at the bank. The last stop was a warehouse, the directions given by a lackey to some organization that the guy wouldn’t give the name to. The guy seemed so fidgety and nervous as he handed Dave the paper, instructions scrawled across it with shaking hands, barely legible at all. As he walks to the doors guards block his way, but a quick show of the paper he had received changed their demeanor pretty quickly, lowering their snipers from his head and allowing access into the building.

The inside is like any warehouse someone would see in those superhero movies or occasionally in the crime shows, dark, sinister, and crawling with minions with snipers silently pointed at the intruder. Dave turns his head left and right, raising an eyebrow when he notices nothing but swarms of flunkies making sure he doesn’t try anything funny. Then a voice cuts through the air, like a dagger embedding itself into someone’s ear, so sinister and obviously evil that Dave would have called out on some ironic cliche if it weren't for the fact it actually freaked him out, just a bit.

“Welcome, little chick. Hope finding this place wasn’t so hard. Sometimes it’s a bit of a challenge to get workers that aren’t completely incompetent.” The sentence weighed on Dave, as if his response would determine whether the guy who gave him these poorly scrawled instructions lived or died for his actions. Dave kept calm though, the mask doing a great job to hide whatever expression was etched there as he responds with an emotionless, almost darkly cold voice.

“It’s fine, the guy looked like a nervous wreck trying to write the shit out, but I could still fine the place okay as you can see.” He blinks behind his shades, never looking away from the direction of the voice, still hidden in the shadows.

“Good, now according to some of the underworld agents I have spread around, you’re the new kid in town. So I thought it’d be best to welcome you, from one new guy to another.” Dave could hear the swivel of a chair, legs coming into the light as a pair of eyes pierce the darkness, this is a usual display used by bosses, keeping themselves as hidden as possible, making sure nothing could be used against them, it’s a rudimentary tactic that works every time.

“Yeah, I’m the new guy. I bounce from city to city, since birds are prone to migrating.” That earned Dave a chuckle from his mystery boss, listening as the person, presumably male by the deep, sinister like voice, shift forward in his chair.

“Well you’re not so bad smartass, got some energy in you. Of course I didn’t invite you here just to exchange pleasantries, and you should know this more than I.” There’s a pause, cuing Dave to nod in reply before the man continues. “You see, we’re both businessmen of trade, and I’d like it if we could ‘benefit’ each other, you see. With that in mind, I have a proposal: you do some small jobs for me, and in return, you get paid, and quite handsomely I might add.” Just as Dave tries to interrupt the man’s plan there's a raise of the hand, a finger coming into the light and waving side to side, warning Dave to hold his tongue, which he did.

“I’m not done, so shut your damn mouth. In addition to getting paid, I’ll make very sure that your name isn’t mixed with our ‘company’, your operations will be kept in secret and you will have the free will to refuse them as you please.” This was an odd proposal, most crime bosses would be very sure to leave Dave with some of the credit to these schemes, and to go so far as to even keep the operations covert and up to him to decide to accept, this either meant this man is very cocky, or he has a plentitude of resources that Dave’s assistance wouldn’t be needed whether he joined or not. Either way the Strider could use this to his favor, crossing his arms as if thinking it over.

“Alright, but as you said I want nothing to do with your organization or your affiliates. All of my incomes will be paid in cash, and with the information on the reasons of the operations… I don’t give a shit either way as long as my name isn’t splattered all over it.”

“Excellent,” even at the sound of pleasure the sentiment seemed more menacing than appreciative. The man extends his hand from the shadows, and Dave clasps it without a second thought and shakes it, the other hand employed to pass business cards between the two of them. Dave takes his hand back at a few moments, flipping the card upright in the other as he reads the bolded words across the small slip, most of the smaller letters being contact information.

**MIDNIGHT CREW: Spade Slick - A night owl and a wise bird too.**

There’s a rumbling laugh from the other man, risen from his chair as a coy smile flashes in the darkness. “Well Crow, thief for hire, it’s a pleasure doing business with you.” And at that note, he turned and left to recede further into the shadows, hoards of agents in pursuit of their captain in command. Dave is left in the room, alone with only the card to prove the events that had happened before. He tucks the slip of paper into his pocket for safekeeping, coming out the way he came and taking off into the skies, quickly checking the time on a clock tower a mile or so away.

The night would soon draw to a close as he reads the numbers, already the smaller arrow shifted to point towards the four, giving little heed to the larger one but from what he could surmise it’s about half past 3. So with a quick turn, he flaps his wings and makes a beeline for his home, being especially careful to make sure there are no unwanted viewers as Dave stays low to the water’s surface, out of sight from anyone but maybe a random pier worker or some hobo. In a couple of minutes he’s diving into the greenery that surrounds his craftsman style home, using the trees as cover before dashing across the yard and leaping to his bedroom window with a single flap. Even a night as calm as this one, well semi calm at least, still taxed on Dave’s body. Unlike the hero of wind he had only learned of hours before, his flight comes from muscle and bodily strength, instead of an element. Though he’s sure that Heir does use some strength of some sort to soar and use this abilities, in a flight of endurance Dave wouldn’t be the victor, his might may last him four hours but for the hero, he could probably go days soaring through the skies, dismissing worries like thermals and air currents. Sighing with exhaustion and trepidation he begins the arduously long process of removing each piece of of his costume, piece by piece in the opposite order he had put them on. This took a little bit longer than putting everything on because after it’s all removed he would check for damages or stains, working to remove any blemishes right away from the delicate silk and wool fabrics, glad to see the only major problems are the trousers when he sat on the top of that building, and a small tear in the wider sleeves of his outfit.

After careful mending and cleaning the clothes are folded in the same way he had found them in, taking great time to be perfectly precise before letting the costume rest in the darkness of the hidden safe, shutting the door with a click and a few beepings of computers randomizing codes. There’s a long, loud yawn from Dave as he holds the business cards he had received in his hand, making sure the one from the Midnight Crew sat on top. He strolls down the stairs in his boxers till he sees his brother, sitting on the living room couch and slumped back as the TV plays some skater reality show. He gives the sibling a salute and receiving one in return before his brother lowers the volume and sits forward, elbows on his knees and intent to hear all the events of tonight.

“Yer home pretty late Dave, I thought you were just gonna do a simple fly by of the city.” His brother didn’t sound angry or upset in the least, just more curious about where Dave could have possibly been that required him coming so late. That’s usually how his brother is, pretty cool and calm as long as he isn’t in any real trouble.

Dave recounted the night’s events, how it started out as a calm recon, which lead into a little show in front of a bank. Then, the hero. He was careful to describe as much of the hero that he had found out after that first surprise meeting in the gun fray, even going as far to ask his brother to do a little research of his own, nodding in return and motioning for Dave to continue. Next, he recounted his time spent in the underworld, collecting data and spreading his information for possible jobs. His brother took special interest in this, prodding Dave to describe each boss or major affiliate as well as company or organization names, probably planning already to get some research and background knowledge done on the plebeians. He ends this with the meeting with the Midnight Crew, spreading the business cards across the coffee table for his brother to see, but making sure that specific one is moved closest to the sibling. His brother lifts the piece of paper, studying it front and back before gently placing it onto the table, elbows back to perching on his knees as his eyes glance up over his shades, golden irises dead serious as he looks over at Dave.

“I want you to be careful Dave, this Midnight Crew, as well as the appearance of a local hero, this can only spell trouble. I wouldn’t like to end up moving after we’ve just got here, but I will if this turns into something too much to handle.” Dave nods silently, agreeing with his brother completely.He had been caught up in similar situations before, but usually heroes were easier to avoid, and the villains not as smart as these guys are. Bro sits back up, smiling while his shades return to concealing the unnatural gold.

The next moments were spent receiving goodnight hugs and forehead kisses from his brother, which Dave never really appreciated, now that he’s fifteen, but he didn’t resist them anyway, knowing it’s better to just accept the tenderness when he could get it before his brother returns to his usual grueling regimen of pain called ‘training’. With an exhausted yawn, Dave is up the stairs and closing the distance between himself and his bedroom, grateful for the soft, embracing comfort of his bed as his arms spread and he lays face first on his mattress. Only seconds need to pass before his body unwinds in the warmth, tugging his comforter around his body and holding it tightly around him as the world dissipates around him while sinking into the lull of sleep.


	2. Meeting the Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our villain meets the hero face to face. Will a forbidden friendship bloom, or will this be another game of cat and mouse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than the last but it should be just as great.
> 
>  
> 
> **Just a heads up, this fanfic is old and I aim to completely overhaul it during my spare time. It may take a while but I really do love this concept and this Dave I've made, and want to remake it now that I know more about character design, development, and storytelling. I'll be leaving this untouched though, so I always have a reminder of where this all started.
> 
> ****There's a [brand new blog](https://thecrow-revived.tumblr.com/) that's going to be all about the fanfic and keeping tabs as I write it, feel free to follow it if you want to be kept up to date about the fanfic's rewrite.

Darkness covers the expanse of his vision, complete silence flooding the swathe of shadows. There is nothing, life completely void and never a single object to break the endless stretch of nullity.

Then, there is something.

A light shines over all that contains black and dark, bright hues sweeping over this world of emptiness till life is born, a small planet hanging in the distance. The surface is dull, barren shades of grey covering the surface while two pink and green fluorescent moons dot the skies nearby. Then his body is flung forward, hurling itself towards the sphere, seeing a multitude of faces whirling past him. The only features he could make out is skin ashen and hair black, with horns, only furthering his ambiguity. It’s obvious though that this is a home world of trolls, but being aware of this only forwarded his uncertainty. Just as soon as this world is created though, Dave is torn away and the grey dot quickly fades into the endless nothing of space. Replacing it is an entirely new planet, one easily recognizable with its blues and greens, swirls of white blanketing over large sweeps. It’s Earth, looking the same as it does on the satellite pictures from the far reaches space. Faces and figures race past him once more, only a spectator to the theatrical display darting across his vision. Though as the story unfolds, a pang of sadness blossoms deep in his chest, even barely knowing what is happening around him  it’s enough to recognize the bitter the deaths of the people he felt were his friends. He couldn’t really see who they were, and probably never met them before now, but there was this feeling, like somehow he knew who they were. In his last stop he comes upon… himself. He definitely recognized the face of this twin if his, but being garbed in bright red, knightly pajamas,  with a gear insignia on his chest, it’’s hard to believe this boy is actually himself. The head of his clone turns, facing him for a brief moment before giving Dave an ironic salute. Before he can say anything he’s pulled back from this strange reality, laying on his bed with his eyes outstretched, sweat gleaming across his brow as his lungs heave, exhaling large, heavy gasps.

He had been sleeping sprawled out like a rag doll, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed with a wing, while his opposite heel is up the wall. A hand rises to smack against his forehead, his own hand to be specific, sighing at yet another visionary dream that would continue to plague his thoughts. He sits himself up on the bed, his body taxed and fatigued, even the small twist of his hips to plant his feet on the floor radiated with aches and the sting of hyper nerves. Even as his wings fold and shift the sting still spreads across the nerves, like an electric wildfire.

Never before has he been able understand these dreams, and he probably never will. Even though most of the time his subconscious is uneventful, or littered with the usual dreams of a fifteen year old adolescent, occasionally dreams like these come up, more real than they should be, as if he were peering into some unseen universe at a series of events he couldn’t possibly believe, unlikely as it sounds. So pushing himself to his feet, his fingers clasp his shades from the nightstand before heading out to the bathroom, shutting the bedroom door behind him prior to crossing the short distance to the other. He slips inside, looking into the mirror for a moment before freezing in place, hairs on his body rising as frightened goosebumps, feathers joining in with the fray, create small hills on his skin. His pupils, they had changed shape, the red irises that used to come at a perfect arching circle now bend and curve at the edges, forming the teeth of some a gear, the whole while they spin in place. For a while Dave couldn’t look away, unbelieving that his eyes could do such a thing, every time he had his visions he would be deeply asleep, but even when he woke he never saw something like this. Eventually they slow to a halt, even shifting to their normal shape, but Dave is still left with a chilling fear of what his body hid from him.

His hand clutches his chest, hoping to still his racing heart in his grip as his breaths come slow and steady, taking in the air deep into his body before releasing it.

“Calm down Dave, calm down. It’s nothing major just your fucked up irises playing some harmless prank, no big deal,” his words, though they did help, still didn’t soothe him entirely, but it’s enough to finish his daily hygienics and sport a fresh Deadpool esque t-shirt and some black jeans, fighting with the garment to get the wings through the holes sewn open on the back.

There’s a light tap on the steps as Dave bounds down the stars, nearly gliding as wings catch the slight breeze from the opened windows. Without even so much as a sidelong glance he can already see his brother working in the kitchen, the profound smell of apple oatmeal and blueberry flapjacks beckoning him to their source. Already he’s seated at the island, hands smacking the counter top gently as his impatience gets the best of him for a moment.

“Calm your feathers for five more minutes bro, your breakfast ain’t done yet,” Bro doesn’t even have to turn to sense his apprehension for his breakfast, the only Bro cooked meal he got besides the occasional dinner. But just like he is promised the plate is soon set before him, stacked high with his pancakes and a bowl of oatmeal slid next to it. Dave could have jumped like a complete dork then but hey, he’s got an image to keep, so with a grateful nod he takes the fork offered to him and calmly digs into his food, keeping all reactions to the heavenly tastes blanketing his tongue to himself.

His brother sinks into the chair next to him, making a noticeably bigger plate for himself. Even with Dave’s appetite he could never match to his brother’s.

“So,” he began, “you wanna start with physical training or educational.” Dave blinks a few times, he rarely ever had the choice of which went first, usually his brother sets up the schedule and Dave just follows it obediently. Seems Bro noticed his surprise, the corner of his lip curved into a smirk as a gloved hand comes to ruffle his hair. “Lets say it’s a special occasion, a reward for helping get all our shit in here.”

Though he isn’t very pleased with having his hair disheveled, he ends up smiling anyway, pushing his brother off good naturedly before thinking over his decision with a bite of his pancakes.

“Well, since I’d rather not be panting like some Olympian that came back from a marathon while doing my work, starting with school then gym seems like a better option.”

“Good choice little bro,” and that earns Dave another hand destroying what he had spent a good five minutes brushing and combing to perfection in the bathroom. He doesn’t even bother pushing it off this time around, letting his brother have at his hair till he is content that he has given Dave another case of bedhead, which he attempts to straighten out with a few pats of his palm.

With that breakfast came and went, the dishes are stored in the dishwasher and the Striders move to sit themselves in the living room, Dave on the floor while Bro sits across from him on the couch, hovering over every few minutes to check up on Dave’s work. Of course he would be home schooled, there is no way someone like him could ever go to a public school without someone calling the government to take him away to be tested. For the most part Dave lived in secret, nobody knew he existed and it’s just better to keep it that way. Homeschooling really isn’t that bad either, since he started young, and his brother teaches like some sort of Greek dictator, he’s already diving in studies that are up to par with colleges.

They spend the better part of two hours hitting the books, starting with mathematics and going down till they get at least the more basic subjects, saving foreign languages and other extracurriculars for next week. After tucking all his learning materials away his brother leads him upstairs, noticing that they are moving towards one of the newer rooms his Bro cautioned him not to go into. His brother pushes the door open, a smooth, swift motion, and inside is not something he expected. The floors are lined with soft squares of grey, usually seen in fitness gymnasiums, and on them are various pieces of workout equipment, brand new and shimmering in the light from the single window. Dave is taken aback for a good few moments, slowly stepping inside so his eyes could wander. One wall is completely covered in glass, a long bar extending across. He turns to look the other way, seeing the dryer and washing machine, probably put here after the move, or belonging here to begin with. After coming back from his moment of shock and awe he turns to Bro, who has already pulled a sword from a nearby basket that should be used for umbrellas. The blade though is only a long section of wood, a practice sword used in dojos. He tosses another to Dave, catching it easily and squeezing the grip at the bottom. No words were needed, soon they stepped to the center of the room, using this open space to begin his combat practice.

///

Hours passed as swords clashed and splinters were flung about the room, his brother fought mercilessly, never holding back an ounce of his strength on Dave, and he is glad for it. Before it always looked as if Bro restrained himself in an effort to protect him, and now that he’s older, he’s glad he can stand his own in a one to one fight with his brother, even if it always ended the same. Their bodies shone under the fluorescent lights, glazed with sweat from hours of strenuous sword play. Strangely though these duels always did wonders to clear his mind, he always felt as if the weight on his shoulders got a little lighter as battles ensued, even if it lasted for only a moment. The battle does come to an end though, and of course he has fallen to the ground and his brother stands over him with the wooden blade pressed to his neck. Dave had no doubts that his brother is undefeatable, but he liked to imagine that he would come close every once in a while.

Training over they both get ready to shower, though Bro had to help Dave to his feet before they could really get anywhere. He didn’t say a word, but a firm pat on the back was all Dave really needed to know that he did a good job, looking up to his brother with as a smirk plays on his lips. Bro walks off to the downstairs bathroom, but not without giving Dave a good hair ruffle, leaving the one upstairs for him.

Clean and smelling of soap he steps out of the shower, fondling for his towel blindly, the bright lights that reflect off the tiles leaving him more blind than usual with his vulnerable eyes. Quickly drying off his face he slips on his shades, giving  the mirror a sidelong glance, checking for those ridges he’d seen on his irises before letting the sweet shade of his eye wear blanket over and block the blinding lights.

It is only late afternoon, but Dave is anxious to get moving, hollering to his Bro that he’d be going out, and getting an affirmation grunt in return, the TV blasting from the level below. Quickly he bounds to his room, this time removing everything from the safe. He straps on the thermo suit, the weights he had left behind the night before strapping onto his body, already accustomed to their weight to the point it’s hardly noticeable at times. Once in place the rest is slipped on and he is out the window, at first dropping at an alarmingly fast rate before the wind picks up and carries him into the sky.

///

Sometimes he believes the wind would play pranks on him, it would remove itself from Dave’s presence entirely and just when it looks hopeless it would be back again, pulling him up into the skies. Their relationship has always been complicated, even he couldn’t make sense of it either. But he did know that the breeze is a being of its own, and should not be trifled with in the least.

As Dave soars over the cityscape, lazily drifting across the skies with little effort at all, an idea dawns. His brother had spent most of his money on the house, and bills would come soon as well as money spent on groceries. Now is a good time as ever to start ‘earning his income’. He dives to fly a little lower, checking the streets for a good target, till he sees an empty bank. No doubt it had closed for the night, for what reason Dave would never comprehend, it only made the building that much easier as a target. Like a vulture descending on its prey he circles the place, slowly lowering himself to the rooftop without being spotted. Crows echoed off from the distant buildings, watching him closely as he sneaks in through one of the vents up top.

The air is dry and chilled as he crawls through, struggling with his wings to shimmy through, they always proved to be more of a hindrance than an aid. Finally he is above the front desks, kicking the vent opening down before falling to the floor deftly, crouching out of sight of the glass walls across the room. He peeks over the linoleum counter tops. Even in the darkness the bright city lights from the outside illuminate the room perfectly. A set of couches and chairs can be seen at the front corner of the room, across from that is a door probably leading into the room full of safes. Plants are placed along the carpeted floor, slowly starting to wilt without water or light. And he crouched in the farthest part of the building desks lined with glass windows, probably to protect those behind them. Finally Dave’s eyes stop to the cash registers, snickering as he finds a paperclip on the desk, picking at the lock till it opens with a caching, admiring the loads of cash stored inside. He quickly takes out his back bag, filling it to the brim with the green paper, emptying each register before he is content. He looked back up at the vent, letting out a soft caw out of it, waiting patiently for a response.

Crow calls filled the metal space as three fairly large adult crows fly in and land on the table. Dave hands the bag to them and points to the vent again, watching as they lugged the weight out where they came, Dave jumping up into the vent to follow in suit, very sure to leave no evidence of his arrival behind him before he goes.

Once he’s outside his wings furl out to stretch, arms copying their movements before he takes his bag from his bird companions. Being part crow he’s always had a connection with the birds. He is their alpha, and they follow any order he has to say.

Just as he’s ready to take off though he freezes, the crows that assisted him landing on his shoulder and wings. His eyes had trailed upwards, where the hero he had seen not just a day before hovered above the bank he stood on, looking directly at him. They stayed that way for  a while, eyes locked on one another as they try to stare down the other. Then just as the Heir is about to speak, Dave is crouched low against the cement, wings opening in a flash to push off the roof while his legs propel him upwards alarmingly fast. It’s not a few flaps later he is soaring and peak altitude, with an unwelcome traveler tailing not far behind.

“Hey! Uh, I am going to give you a chance to do the right thing here,” Dave could tell the guy had trouble really assessing this situation. Meeting a bird-man really isn’t something that happens on a daily basis, and it showed in the way he spoke. “Turn yourselves in and nobody gets hurt, alright?”

He tsked at his own incompetence, in the fact he had not hidden himself well enough, consoled in his crows to see if the coat is clear, checked his surroundings a bit more. There were so many ways he could have avoided this, but he didn’t, and it’s his own fault. He wouldn’t let himself be captured though, not this easily. Dave’s wings fold against his sides as he dives down like a kamikaze pilot, nosediving towards the city till the feathery expanse snaps open to catch the upward breeze, pushing himself sharply towards the sky before he is weaving and winding through small gaps between buildings. Once he’s sure he has lost the other he turns back, scowling as the boy keeps up almost perfectly, though he’s aware of the moments the Heir slows down to make the sharper turns.

He’d keep up this game of cat and mouse longer, if it weren’t for the fact flying like this wore him out faster. There is no choice, he slides his blade from its sheathe, this sword much cheaper than the one he brought the first time, but still just as deadly. With a scrape of metal on sheathe the blade gleams in the city lights below, wings pounding the air as he climbs higher, waiting just as the hero is following directly below before his wings stop, pressed to his side as he flips backwards and starts to fall down towards the other. He sees a weapon being torn out as he comes down upon the hero, and just as he brings down his blade to meet with flesh, it’s impeded by the flat, brought side of a hammer, metal clanging loudly as they vibrate against each other.

His wings beat to keep him aloft, the pattern a bit messy due to his lack of muscle for hovering. The arms and feathers probably beat against his adversary, not that he actually cared too much about that though, he just had to make sure that hammer didn’t come anywhere close to crushing his wings. Blade scrapes against hammer head in a shower of sparks till each finds the momentum to push themselves back from the other and hover in the air a few feet away.

Dave would find this ironic if he had the time for sick ironic fires at the moment, hero versus villain, one of the oldest scenarios ever to be created in comics, and he’s acting it out right here. Not acting, no, this is real. And just before the blue clad vigilante had a chance to speak, Dave moves in for the attack, moves quick and sharp as the battle between the two ensue, feathers flying, sparks exploding in the night sky, and it didn’t take long for an audience of onlookers to collect below the fray.

He closely studies this man’s moves, watching how he stays afloat, how he fights, how he dodges. He could tell hand to hand combat, though trained for it by his obvious strength, still wasn’t his strong suit, due to lack of experience. This guy is definitely stronger than Dave, no question, but Dave is just a bit faster, more agile, and quicker in the air. Then as he feels the breeze shift it snaps in his head, this man didn’t abide by the winds rules, he didn’t float on its whim and glide along its patterns.

He made the rules.

A strange mix of admiration and blazing anger rose, although the vexation outweighed the veneration. He couldn’t explain to himself why but the thought that this person, one who probably lived with his abilities gift wrapped, a person who didn’t need to cower and hide away from the world, who probably spent his normal life as an average teenager, going to school and doing homework and having FRIENDS, the fact that he could control the wind. The rage rose more, boiling in his stomach till he’s sure he’d end up vomiting liquid indignation at this, this HERO. His blows came down faster, harder, but at the same time his control over his movements waned, and he could feel himself barely missing blows to the ribs and stomach.

He needed to get away, to escape the battle to somewhere more calm. Dave’s eyes lock onto the Heir’s briefly, seeing clear blue irises glow with his… his gift. He almost wanted to scream, instead he leaps back a few paces and hovers in the air, taking out what looked to be a fist sized cherry bomb without the fuse. He chucks it to the blue boy, watching as his hammer goes to block and soon an explosion of pink smoke is covering a good 5 yard radius of the sky, hiding Dave perfectly so he could make his escape while the crows lurch at the man still fumbling in the smoke, distracting him long enough so that Dave could flee down an alleyway and out of sight.

He’s sure to check that he’s alone, entering a long abandoned building on a construction lot, climbing till he reaches the top floor, or at least what is left. Seems the wrecking ball left a hole in the corner of the room, cool night air slithering in as well as a large mix of animals, including crows. He sits himself against one of the torn walls, knees bent to support his elbows briefly while a hand tears his tengu mask away so the other could cover his face. Tears begin to fall, followed by a vengeful yell into the night while his fist bangs the bricks, listening as one falls onto the ground stories below.

It wasn’t fair. Dave has had to work hard his entire life, reading wind patterns, watching clouds, training his muscles so he could soar the skies with ease, and even then it wasn’t so easy. He’s been trained to fly, and the fact someone he barely knows has had this ability handed to him on a silver platter…

It just wasn’t fair.

///

He stayed that way for a while, eyes hidden under his hands while he barely grips his mask, elbow perched on his knee. The choked sobs stopped a while back, but the tears still flow, and it didn’t take much for crows to perch onto his body, offering as much support as the ebony feathers fowls could.

After another good half hour he’s feeling up to moving again, rising to the protest of crows and spreading his wings to take off, staying low and hugging the buildings to be sure he wouldn’t be spotted by the hero.

As he soars above the river to his island home, his mind came to a conclusion. Face going entirely blank as his eyes express all that he is feeling.

No matter what he would always hate that hero, he would always hate the Heir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to keep updated on art or ask me questions, come visit my blog. (you can even submit your own art and fics)  
> http://dave-the-crow.tumblr.com/  
> Again I cannot take full credit for this, the original Real Men Wear Tights fandom is owned by Bananaramses, SergeantMeow, and with the artist Panicismyrain. Check out their blog over here;  
> http://www.realmenweartights.com/  
> Chief Writer: Umbreeunix (http://umbreeunix.tumblr.com/  
> Editor:

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~I'll be keeping everyone updated on my new blog (which is still a little messy btw);~~  
>  ~~http://dave-the-crow.tumblr.com/~~  
>  ~~Sorry if the beginning is so slow, chapter 2 should be more exciting than this one. I will be posting artwork at my blog, such as references, shipping charts, ext. There will be NSFW in the future, so just be patient as the creative flow comes out. If you have any questions about the fanfiction you can ask at my blog, I'm more than happy to answer. Also I cannot take full credit for this, the original Real Men Wear Tights fandom is owned by Bananaramses, SergeantMeow, and with the artist Panicismyrain. Check out their blog over here;~~  
>  ~~http://www.realmenweartights.com/~~  
>  ~~Chief Writer: Umbreeunix (http://umbreeunix.tumblr.com/)~~  
>  ~~Editor: Vividcalibrator (http://vividcalibrator.tumblr.com/)~~ **a lot of info here is outdated, check the notes above for more current info


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